


Five Things That Already Happened In Other Fic

by Teland



Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Dirty Talk, Drunk Sex, F/F, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, LGBTQ Character of Color, LGBTQ Female Character of Color, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Multi, Pheromones, Tight Spaces, Truth or Dare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-07-24
Updated: 2003-07-24
Packaged: 2018-01-19 05:27:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1457347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/pseuds/Teland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cliches are fun!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Things That Already Happened In Other Fic

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimers: No one here is mine, and I hate that.
> 
> Spoilers: Vague ones up through season two.
> 
> Author's Note: For Rivka T's Cliche challenge.
> 
> Acknowledgments: To Sarah and Jane for audiencing, and even more love to Jane for inadvertently causing the last one to happen.

* he blinded me with science *

Okay, so maybe it wasn't the smartest thing he had ever done.

Meteor rocks being what they were and all, but there was *important scientific*... stuff to be learned. And since he wasn't *about* to go up to Lex and be, like, "put me on a slab, buddy!" this was the best way to go about it.

And who else could it be but Pete?

Pete, at least, wouldn't ever hurt him, and he had some good questions. Like, what *exactly* the meteor rocks did, and how much it took to do it, and hey, what would happen if we put one in the corner of the barn, sat up in the loft, and drank some of my dad's whiskey?

And, okay, so maybe Pete didn't really need to help him with the bottle. After all, they kind of already knew what would happen if *Pete* finished off half a bottle of Jack Daniels (or did a keg-stand after a football game), and Clark was pretty sure that Pete wasn't taking notes anymore, and wow, was his head spinning.

Only in a good way. The whiskey made him all warm and sweaty and giggly --

"Wow, Clark, you look like an *idiot*!"

"Hey, I'm not the one wearing a shoe on my head!"

And how had that happened, anyway? And wasn't that *his* shoe? And wow, Pete's head sure was round.

But, yeah, he couldn't even really *feel* the meteor rocks anymore. Or, at least, he didn't think he could. Was he supposed to be all... woobily? Wobbly. Woozy. Stuff.

Clark took another drink, and leaned back against the couch. And then hit the floor and remembered that he wasn't, technically, on the couch at all.

It didn't hurt, but there was this nice, meaty thump, like the kind he imagined when he was thinking about tossing football players.

And then his shoe hit him on the head.

"Ow," he said, and started snickering.

"Hey, are you all right, man?" Pete was leaning down over him, and his eyes were even rounder than his head. One of them really needed to stop moving. Or the world did.

"Why aren't you on the floor?"

Pete blinked at him, and looked really thoughtful for a minute.

Clark decided to leave him to it, and carefully worked the bottle -- which was still, thankfully, in his hand -- up to his mouth. There was something very important, physics-wise, involving being flat on your back and how it made drinking tricky.

"Hey, watch it, you're gonna spill it!"

And Clark remembered that he was on the floor and Pete wasn't, and thus Pete was *dangerously* far away from the bottle. Clark reached up and yanked him down, and now Pete was on top of him, which would make drinking even trickier, but at least they were on the same place. In. Near. Planes.

Yeah.

Clark giggled some more and nudged Pete's surprise-slack mouth with the bottle.

"Your turn!" he said, and this was very important.

Pete blinked and did a very neat move that involved grabbing the bottle, rolling sideways off Clark, and drinking. Well, okay, the move was spoiled a bit by the fact that much of the whiskey missed his mouth, but it was still pretty cool.

"My turn!"

Pete laughed, and then got kind of a weird look on his face, but dude, he had to understand that in order for Clark to execute the move, *he* had to get on top of Pete. "Jesus, you weigh a ton!"

Clark nodded in agreement. He did, in fact, weigh a ton. Lots of tons even. In that way where he actually didn't, but was just kind of big-boned. He grabbed the bottle and rolled, and -- yes!

Whiskey in his mouth. And his hair. And kind of all over his face. Ewww. Clark wiped his face with his hand, and then stared at all the drops running over his fingers and down his wrists. That probably wasn't much neater, so he very carefully and thoroughly licked his hand.

He tasted like salt and alcohol, which was kinda cool. And he was just about to share this revelation with Pete -- and where was the notepad anyway? -- but Pete was giving him another weird look and he forgot what he was going to say. Because it was kind of a *Lex* look, in a way he couldn't really define beyond thinking "hey, that's a Lex look! On Pete!"

He suspected his brain wasn't firing on all cylinders.

More than that, he suspected that it was Pete's turn. "It's your turn," he said, and hauled Pete on top of him again.

And, okay, he was pretty sure that alcohol didn't sap your powers, but it sure was harder to move Pete than he thought it would be, especially when Pete was still giving him that Lex look and kind of licking his lips like he had whiskey there.

He jabbed the bottle at Pete's mouth helpfully.

"Man, I don't know if we should drink anymore."

And that was just wrong. "But it's research! And stuff!"

And Pete blinked, and looked really thoughtful for a really long time, and Clark noticed that his eyebrows were really neat and smooth, and wondered how you went about complimenting people's eyebrows and decided that Pete probably already knew. About his eyebrows.

And that was really cool, because people *should* know that they had nice eyebrows, so Clark grinned.

And Pete grinned back, and took a long swallow and then rolled them *both* over and the bottle went spinning off and they went spinning off and the top of Clark's *head* went spinning off, because Pete's leg was between his own and that...

Really felt kinda good.

He thought he would maybe like a minute to be thoughtful about that, like Pete, but mostly he decided that he really needed to tickle Pete. Because, man, Pete was *really* ticklish, and giggled and screamed like a little girl. Which made *Clark* giggle, because, hey -- he bet he could make Pete scream even *more* if he took off his shirt.

Except that when he took off his shirt Pete gave him an even *weirder* look, and Clark remembered that he was supposed to take off *Pete's* shirt. "Oops."

"You are *so* drunk."

"Am... yeah, I am."

And then they rolled around some more, and Clark worked at getting Pete's leg back where it had been, and Pete did his damnedest to tickle Clark, but it didn't work until he started fooling with Clark's navel, and then it didn't so much tickle as --

"Ohh..."

"Clark?"

Clark rocked his hips a little and *there* was Pete's leg and --

"Clark!"

"No, dude, you gotta --" And then Clark moved *his* leg --

"*Ohh*..."

"Yeah."

And then there was just a lot of moving around, though less rolling and much less tickling and --

"Mm --"

"Dude --"

"Oh *yeah* --"

Pants were really difficult all of a sudden. And bad. All of a sudden. Clark yanked at Pete's, and Pete yanked at Clark's, and the zippers sounded *really* loud and there was a moment when Clark thought something very similar to "the *hell*?" but it floated away on the Grand Whiskey Sea because Pete's *hand*.

Was right *there*.

And his hand. Was... there.

And they looked at each other, and Pete looked so surprised that Clark had to grin, and Pete grinned back.

And then there wasn't any rolling around at all, so much as a great deal of stroke and --

"Oh *man* --"

Squeeze and --

"Yeah, like that --"

*Flick* and there weren't many words at all, because Pete had his eyes closed and his fist was just the hottest and tightest and most non-Clark-fist thing *ever*, and the look on Pete's face suggested that *Clark's* fist was pretty non-Pete-like and he was warm all over -- warmer than even the whiskey, and Pete's chest was all dark and shiny with sweat and his lips were all shiny with spit and Clark thought "I could kiss that mouth" and he heard himself make the most embarrassing sound *ever* and he came all over Pete's hand and jerked Pete faster.

Because he wanted to hear the ridiculous sound Pete made, only it wasn't really ridiculous at all. Kind of a growl and a curse and a purr and Clark's dick twitched and Pete came and fell off to the side.

Clark blinked.

Pete shuddered.

"Holy shit."

"Yeah."

"Uh...."

"Yeah."

Clark wondered if this was going in the notebook.

"Clark?"

"Yeah?"

"This is so not going in the notebook."

* games people play *

"Truth or dare, Bruce."

Bruce looked up from his chemistry textbook. "What?"

Lex grinned at him. It was a really *telling* grin. It was that "let's go out and piss off my father" grin, which was very similar to the "why do you own a bulletproof vest" grin, but not quite the same. "Truth or dare."

Bruce wondered what showed on his face, but suspected it was just one of those deeply annoying times when Lex had him stuck between embarrassed and confused, which happened often enough that *that* grin made Bruce want to hit Lex. He looked back at his book. "You said that already."

"But you didn't *answer*."

And now Lex was using *that* voice, which was the "you're no fun" voice, and very similar to the "I've been drinking for seventeen straight hours" voice, but not quite the same. "It was a question?"

"Oh, don't tell me you've never played Truth or Dare before, I won't -- okay, I'll believe you, but that's... really wrong. And sad. Do you at least know what Truth or Dare *is*?"

Bruce thought about it. "Is it a game designed to embarrass someone into sharing too much personal information?"

"Well... there's also the booze component, but you're pretty much on the money, I'd have to say."

Bruce nodded. "Not interested."

"I'll be your best friend..."

That was *definitely* the "I've been drinking for seventeen straight hours" voice, and Bruce gave Lex a searching look. He was kneeling up on the couch, grinning at him over the arm and not -- quite -- bouncing. He thought back over the past several hours. Polo practice, classes, staying up all night making illegal fireworks (and just a few other things, just for him. For... his hobby.) No drinking. Still... "Have you been drinking?"

Lex grinned at him and whipped out a flask from seemingly nowhere. Probably the base of his spine.

Bruce shook his head. "I can't believe you played polo drunk."

"I didn't. I played polo *tipsy*. There's a small but very important difference, Bruce."

"It would explain the quality of your game."

But Lex didn't rise to the bait. Just gave him *another* grin. The "I'm going to get you" grin, which looked very nice and right on his face, if not for the lack of subtlety. "Truth or dare."

"We have a test --"

"Which we'll both get As on. Unless we study, in which case Professor Carlton will simply come all over our papers before giving them back."

Bruce wrinkled his mouth. "That's pretty disgusting."

A mocking bow. "Truth or dare."

He sighed. "Fine. Dare."

"Mmm." Lex leaned back and back until he fell down, throwing his bare feet over the arm of the couch and waving his toes at Bruce. He couldn't see his face. "I dare you to stop studying."

"I'm not studying. I'm talking to *you*."

Another foot-wiggle. "Close the book and come over here."

"Lex --"

"Or you have to take a drink."

"That wasn't in the rules."

"Oh, it really was. Shame on you for not asking, Bruce."

"I..." There was a reason for putting up with this. Something about enjoying Lex's company. Something about how Lex didn't look at him the way everyone else did, except when he did, and then it was only the way the girls looked at him. Maybe he could talk Lex into a spar and beat the crap out of him. "If I take the drink can I keep studying?"

"Hmm..." Lex bent his long, queerly elegant toes one by one. "No, I think not."

Bruce gave up and walked over to the couch, bending Lex's legs up until he could sit down.

Lex promptly crossed his legs over Bruce's lap and grinned at him. "Good boy."

"We're playing one of my games next."

And Lex gave him a look, which was probably the exact same look as "do that again. no, that thing with the towel," and Bruce wondered if things would be different if he knew any girls who looked at him like that. "Sure."

Probably not.

"Your turn."

Bruce leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling. "Truth or dare."

"Hmmm... truth, I think."

And... damn. What the hell did he actually *want* to know about Lex that he didn't already, or that wouldn't lead to the kind of conversation he just didn't want to have?

"You can ask me anything. One time offer."

Except that it wasn't, because Lex really talked a *lot*. Especially when he was drunk, which also happened a lot. Sometimes Bruce thought they were friends because Lex knew Bruce would never share the secrets. Or think about them too deeply. "Um."

Lex used his toes to knead Bruce's thigh like a cat, and Bruce hated to make assumptions or uneducated guesses, but he thought he could guess what sort of question Lex wanted him to ask.

Right. Well, he could get this over with. "Who are you screwing these days?"

"You don't already *know*?"

Bruce grinned despite himself. "Surprise me."

Lex snorted. "Okay. Professor Dean-Whitely --"

"I knew that."

"Freak. Jessica Byerly --"

"I knew that, too."

"*Amber* Byerly --"

"I was there, remember?"

"Yeah, but you left, and missed it when Consuela joined in."

"Consuela? The cook?"

"Mmm. Yeah."

Bruce shook his head. He didn't really approve of that sort of thing. It was one thing when it was their schoolmates, or even the teachers, but their employees depended on them --

"Stop that."

Bruce grunted noncommittally. "Anyone else?"

He thought he could *feel* Lex's eyes rolling. "My social calendar has been lacking lately. Truth or dare."

"Dare."

"God, you're predictable. Take off your shirt."

And you're not? But he didn't say it. Just unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off, tossing it at the chair and his books. "Truth or dare, Lex."

Lex ran his foot down the center of Bruce's chest. "Truth."

"Why..." And that was... well. He *did* want to know, even he didn't want to want it. "Why do you want to have sex with me?"

"You're assuming I don't just enjoy flirting."

Bruce felt his mouth twist. "I *know* you like to flirt, Lex, but --"

"Can't I just have an appreciation for your fine, manly form?"

Bruce stared at Lex, and there was the teasing look, the "ooh, it's so fun to mess with your mind" look, but it was plastered over a different look entirely. "Your game, Lex."

And then it was the look the rest of the school -- probably the rest of the world -- got. Blank and shuttered and more obvious than Lex probably wanted to know about. Lex sat up and moved in close, slate-colored eyes flicking once over Bruce's face before just staring into his own.

Bruce didn't look away.

"You really want to know?"

He nodded.

"Because I want to see you lose it, Bruce. Really lose it. Not like when you're pretending to be drunk, or pretending to give a shit whether we win or lose at polo. But something... else. And I know you know what I mean."

Bruce forced himself not to swallow, not to shift. "You think you can make that happen?"

Lex looked down at his mouth and smiled. "Not your turn anymore, Bruce. Truth or dare?"

"Dare."

"Kiss me. On the mouth. A --"

Bruce kissed him before he could say anything else. And the angle was awkward and Lex's teeth cut his lip and it should've been terrible and messy, but shoulds like that didn't factor in Lex, who twisted himself into a loose straddle of Bruce's lap and licked his way into Bruce's mouth and...

It didn't feel like a kiss anymore. It felt like being tasted, or maybe just teased. He opened his eyes and found Lex's eyes open, too, and that wasn't the right way to kiss, either, but it was good to be able to stare at him while he was teasing.

To see that it *was* teasing, that those eyes were just as bright and hard as new coins, because it wouldn't do to forget that, to forget who Lex was just because he was sucking on Bruce's tongue.

And then it was over, and Bruce wasn't sure if he'd done the right thing by keeping his hands at his sides. Wasn't sure what message that sent, if any.

"Truth or dare, Lex."

A brief, low laugh, and they were close enough that Bruce could feel it as much as he heard it. "Truth."

There were a lot of things he could ask, that he wanted to *know*, but all of them said too much about him. Gave away too much. "What would you do if we had sex?"

Glitter on the surface of Lex's eyes. Let me show you, it said. That's not what you wanted to ask, it said even more than that, and they were too close. Bruce could just be being paranoid -- he knew he was prone to it -- but... Lex.

Was exactly as smart as he thought he was, when he put his mind to it.

"I'd kiss you again. I'd kiss you... for a really long time. You have a nice mouth. And I'd find every spot on your body that you liked having touched. I'd suck you off. I'd find a way to make you moan. But that's..." Lex shook his head. Licked the scar on his upper lip. "I'd fuck you. Hard. Not because I wanted to, or had some big plan. I don't even know if you'd like it that way. But I know what I like. I know what I'd *need* to do if I got you naked. Does that answer your question?"

And it was... everything in Lex's voice, in the way he was looking at him, just made it really *obvious* that Bruce didn't just have his shirt off and have Lex on his lap -- he was *half-naked*, and Lex was *on* him. The difference was crucial.

Bruce couldn't stop himself from looking, really looking. Lex's shirt unbuttoned enough to show his collarbone, and the lack of hair on his chest. The speed of the man's breathing, the heat of his palms on Bruce's chest.

"Yes," Bruce said, and wasn't really sure what question he was answering.

"Truth or --"

He pushed Lex off as gently as he could manage, noting the flash of heat in his eyes that had nothing to do with sex. "I'm done with this, Lex."

Lex ran his tongue over his teeth and just looked at him for long moments before nodding. And then he rolled off the couch into an easy stance. Watched Bruce while he adjusted himself in his pants. Threw his backpack over his shoulder and smiled, false and sharp. "I'll see you around."

And Lex walked out.

Bruce took a breath and went back to his books.

Wondered, not quite idly, when they would get to *his* game.

* the great escape *

Lex couldn't say he was *terribly* upset about the situation.

Granted, he was trussed up like a bull on the wrong side of a rodeo clown, moderately bruised, and trapped in the trunk of a domestic vehicle, but hey, so was Clark.

And even though it was dark... Lex didn't need light to enjoy the situation. His head was about two inches from Clark's sweet, innocent, farmboy crotch. Clark's head was complementarily placed.

He hadn't had *this* fantasy more than seven or eight hundred times, oh no, not at all. He chuckled to himself.

"You're taking this really well," Clark said.

Lex shifted so Clark could breathe a little harder on him. "Oh, I don't know. Good company, fairly large trunk... it could be worse."

Clark snickered -- yes -- breathily. "Yeah, because it would be so much worse to be stuck in the trunk of your Porsche."

"Spoken like a man who's never been *in* the trunk of a Porsche."

"I... no, never mind, I don't want to know."

"Smart boy."

Clark shifted in the cramped dark, bumping Lex in the head. Froze.

"Sorry."

"Clark, I think we can neglect the social niceties just this once."

"I don't know, Lex. My mom says that the best people manage to be polite in *any* situation."

A sudden, not-as-awful-as-it-should-have-been image of Jonathan and Martha please-ing and thank-you-ing through sex made him shudder.

"Are you okay? Well, okay, I know you're not okay, but --"

"I'm fine Clark, really. Of course, I'd be even better if we weren't being carted off to certain death, but hey, I've always felt that it's important to accentuate the positive."

"Large trunk..."

"And good company, yes."

Clark laughed again, and moved some more. Lex tried to keep his thoughts clean, and then gave up on it entirely.

"You wouldn't happen to be an escape artist, would you?"

"Lex, I think Houdini was cool and all, but I couldn't even make an egg disappear when I had a magic set."

"Hmm." And of course, there was no possible way Clark would have a timely adrenaline surge and save them both while Lex was inconveniently conscious. Lex bit the inside of his cheek, abruptly unsure whether he wanted to laugh or scream.

Because, really, nearly three years of friendship in the barrel, and Lex was pretty sure the only way he'd ever get Clark to spill was to... no, he was *absolutely* sure Clark never would.

There were two appropriately hulking goons driving them to God knew where after beating them up and dropping them in a trunk, and Clark was just going to *let* them. Clark *was* letting them.

Ah, well. Maybe he could provoke one of them into knocking him unconscious so Clark could save the day.

Maybe he could close his eyes really tight and *wish*.

Maybe he could --

"Lex?"

"Hm?"

"Oh, nothing. You were just... kind of quiet for a minute there."

And he didn't, *really* didn't want to say it. They were doing so well. They were moving along, coping with their lives and their love-lives and the town lives and this was as close as he was *ever* going to get to sucking Clark off and *fuck* it. "I was just wondering what would happen if I were unconscious."

"What...? Jeez, Lex, don't even *say* that! The last thing you need is another concussion."

"I... hell."

"What?"

Don't do that, he didn't say. Don't start being this sweet and caring *thing* who's worried about my brain health. Don't. He sighed, wanting to go back to the place where he could appreciate the way Clark shifted. Pretend his warm breath had something to do with it. "Nothing, Clark."

"No, really, Lex, you don't sound good."

"Clark --"

"In fact, I think you might be starting to hallucinate."

"The *hell*?"

"Yeah. You're raving, and you're all... bruised and stuff. And I bet you think the back of this car just flew right off, don't you?"

"Wha --" And suddenly Lex was staring at Clark's crotch. Well, he hadn't stopped, really, but now there was *light*, and *sky*, and *road* rushing past in the background and the ropes around Clark just weren't there anymore and --

"Don't worry, Lex!" Clark was yelling against the sound of the wind. "I'm sure the hallucinations will pass!"

"Clark, what are you -- GAH!"

And then they were flying out of the back of the car, Clark shielding him with his body, his large, warm --

"*Ow."

Hitting the ground hurt. A lot. Rolling hurt more. The bullets would probably hurt even more than that, if Clark hadn't picked him up and starting running. Really, *really* fast.

"Clark --"

"What's that, Lex? You think I'm outrunning bullets? Wow, you probably *already* have a concussion!"

At least, that's what Lex *thought* he said, which was a tough call considering the rush of the wind.

And then they were in what Kansas called a forest, which wasn't all that impressive, but still looked a *lot* like the speeder scene in Star Wars and he was thinking about *Star* Wars and holy shit *tree* --

When Lex opened his eyes again, the forest was somewhere beyond the broad expanse of Clark's chest and they were in a field.

A blink and they were back on the highway.

Another blink and Lex was pretty sure he could see Metropolis in the rapidly approaching distance.

Another and they were... at the farm.

Oh, of *course*.

Clark yanked the ropes off and set him on his feet gently, ruddy-cheeked and panting -- a little.

"We..."

"Don't -- don't talk, Lex. We need to get you to a doctor *fast*."

"Why, for the *windburn*?"

Clark smiled sheepishly. "They can really sting?"

"I... what..." Lex shook his head. The windburn really did sting. Tried again. "Okay, Clark, tell me *why*."

Clark looked uncomfortable. And then he looked like he was considering knocking Lex unconscious. And then he squinted really hard for a minute and looked like he thought better of it.

"Clark...?"

"I... didn't want you to get hurt. Um. More. Lex -- Lex, you had to know I *couldn't*, right?"

And for a moment, Lex wanted to say he knew no such thing. He wanted to point out that ropes *chafed*, and that being knocked around by kidnappers was no fun at all, and that it had been three *years*, and that Clark could kiss his ass. But the moment passed, and Lex sighed, scrubbing a hand over his scalp and wincing at the sting. "I... okay, Clark. Just... okay."

And the look of hope on Clark's face should've been illegal in all fifty states. "Yeah?"

Lex nodded. Looked at Clark.

Clark looked back, grinning and rocking on his heels like he hadn't just run for a hundred miles.

Lex grabbed Clark by his shirt and yanked him in close, kissing him hard enough that it almost wasn't sexy at all. And then it was, because Clark's muffled noise of surprise turned into something else entirely, and Clark was holding his shoulders with shaking hands and Clark was licking his tongue and Lex bit Clark's lip and pulled away.

Dusted off his clothes with movements he knew were jerky and graceless until he could make his brain work again.

"Lex...?"

"You have to know I *couldn't*, right?" And it came out about half as hard as he wanted it to, and about twice as -- god help him -- meaningful, and Clark made another one of those wonderful, awful, damning noises and leaned into him like a sunflower.

"Lex. I... I want..."

And it was the work of a moment to shove Clark to the dirt. Another to drop to his knees over him, on him, and no work at all to kiss the shock off that too-pretty face and rip the ugly plaid shirt open and get his hands on *skin*. Under the t-shirt and it wasn't a kiss so much as an angry nuzzle.

Lex was rubbing himself raw on Clark's stubble and Clark was pushing his hips up and Lex caught a nipple and pinched it as hard as he could and Clark made *another* noise and the sun beat down on his head and working his hips was necessary, beautiful.

Beautiful to feel this, to look up at that cheerful little farmhouse and wonder if anyone was going to come out and see this. Shoot him dead or yell and Lex knew he wouldn't stop for anything short of buckshot to the brain. Not with Clark's hands on his hips, not with Clark pulling him in and getting them closer and --

"Oh Jesus, Lex --"

"Shut *up*." And he didn't mean that at all, not in the least, but that was okay because Clark wasn't listening to him. Clark was rolling them over and keeping his head from hitting the ground in a move too fast for anything like humanity.

Clark was opening his pants and opening *his* pants and the denim scratched and burned and didn't matter remotely because Clark's cock was hard and leaking. Getting them both wet, getting them both *off*, and Clark kissed him again.

Messy, wet, so hot, so fucking hot, and it kept going, kept moving, burning him up and rubbing him raw and Lex couldn't breathe and couldn't stop himself from coming.

"Oh *fuck*, Lex, I can't --"

Opened his eyes just in time to see Clark jerking himself off fast and hard, teeth gritted. Flushed right down to his chest, working and working, other hand sliding in the mess on Lex's belly, painting him, *finger*-painting him and Lex couldn't have looked away if he tried.

"Have to -- oh god --"

And Clark came all over both of them, shaking like a body-specific earthquake and gasping. And then he half-fell, half-cuddled his way onto and over and partially around Lex, pushing his face against Lex's neck and apparently unconcerned about being mostly naked in his own dooryard.

"Lex... mm."

"Comfy?"

"Better than the trunk."

"I don't know, you had your head in a very interesting place in the trunk."

Clark leaned up and looked at him like he was high. "You were thinking about this in the *trunk*?"

"Well, look, I know you were having a deep, existential crisis about honesty and your freaking *superpowers* in the trunk, but I was *bored* and trying to focus on anything but imminent *death*."

Clark gave every impression of thinking this over before snuggling back into him again.

"You think I'm a pervert, don't you?"

Lex could feel Clark's smile against his skin. "Nah, I'm just pretty sure you have a concussion."

"I hate you with the passion of a thousand fiery suns."

Clark squeezed him. "Okay."

* fever when you kiss me *

Clark was really pissed with his Dad. Well, not his *real* Dad, but his alien dad. Biological -- don't think about biology don't think -- Dad. Because all that stuff about ruling the world was cool and all, and he was definitely going to give it some thought, but you think he could've *mentioned* just a little more about, oh, maybe, his Kryptonian biology?

Because it was bad enough to set fire to things whenever he got -- and he wasn't going to think about that, either.

To be honest, he didn't want to think about *anything*. Especially not what he'd spent the past three weeks doing (and doing and doing), but thinking had to happen, and it seemed pretty safe to be pissed off and thinking, because then he wasn't...

Oh, hell.

Oh *fuck*, even, because he wasn't fooling anyone, least of all himself.

Because it was all well and good to have superpowers that let him help people and stuff, but he thought it would've been *nice* if his Dad mentioned the whole "turn seventeen and want to have sex with everyone in the known universe" thing.

Oh, sure, it started *out* okay, and even was fairly manageable. Chloe and Lana lived in the same house, and Chloe's Dad worked a lot of hours, and once they'd talked about it and they'd sniffed him a bit, it had all worked out fine.

Really, really fine with Lana's hair brushing him all over and Chloe's mouth going all those great places and hot and wet and tight and Chloe had looked *so* good bouncing on him like that and it had been even better when Lana had straddled his face and Jesus yes, that was great. That was fine.

Why, he'd go over there right now if they hadn't nailed all that wood up to the door and surrounded the house with meteor rocks.

Girls got sore.

*Humans* got sore.

Humans, with their legs and their breasts and their mouths and --

Thank God masturbation still worked. Granted, it didn't work all that well, and it had been really embarrassing when he had to do it in the showers and all the guys had looked at him funny.

But then they had looked at him even funnier, like there was a really good... *something* in the air, and okay, maybe Dad could have mentioned the bisexuality thing in between the whole take over the world thing, but really, he was a well-adjusted kid. He could handle what life threw at him.

Even when -- especially when -- it was most of a football team.

Pete with his eyes all wide and his dick all hard and it had been... really, really *shivery* to just get on his knees and open wide and that Trevor guy had gotten behind him and boys... had hard hands.

Big hands.

*Good* hands, hands all over him and after a while he didn't know who belonged to which set anymore, and he couldn't think because they were *doing* things, all kinds of things, for, like, *hours*.

But it was really kind of creepy when they were all passed out on the floor like that, and he thought Paul maybe would've drowned if he hadn't turned the showers off.

Still, though, it had been a lot of fun, and Pete had all those brothers, and then there was Mrs. Billings in the teacher's lounge, and Mr. Jackson, and Miss Carlton with those flowery panties and the gardenia perfume and up against the wall and... yeah.

School was fun for a while.

But people had started calling in sick and Clark was so *hungry*.

And there was a little distraction in there, some nice meteor mutants to play with, and the frog-girl's tongue was a memory he would treasure for a long, long time, not to mention that weird old guy with the six extra arms, but the frog-girl had to go back to the lake and the old guy had a heart attack and it was *meteor* mutants, so of course, of *course* it all led back to the castle.

Because sooner or later, a meteor mutant had to either try to kill a Luthor or stalk Lana or both, or they lost their powers or something. It was a thing.

So here he was, bent over Lex's pool table, and it wasn't his *fault*, even.

He'd had to knock that weird blob thing unconscious before it would leave Lionel alone, and he didn't think it even *had* any interesting holes, even if it wanted him. Stupid mutants. Stupid Lionel with his hair all wavy and his nostrils flaring and those cool sunglasses that he didn't even *need*, the big faker and that *look* on his face and who knew Dads carried lube in their jacket pockets?

Maybe it was a Luthor thing.

He really *hoped* it was a Luthor thing, because even though Lionel was fucking him so hard he could see stars, even though he was yanking Clark's hair and saying all those nasty, great things, Clark had already blown him twice and he didn't think all the shaking was from lust.

"Fucking *Christ* --"

And Lionel came so hard he didn't so much stop moving as... fall off.

Clark sighed and prodded the man with his toe -- gently -- but it didn't look like he was going anywhere. He brought himself off, eyed Lionel's shrinking dick longingly, and sighed some more.

Tucked Lionel away. Patted him.

Shook him a little. Sighed again.

"Clark...? Jesus, what happened to my father?"

Clark jumped up and tried to look innocent. "He's not dead! See, he's breathing and everything!"

Lex looked down at his father. Looked at Clark. Looked at Clark *really* hard.

Clark licked his lips. Lex was in one of the purple shirts. One of the *silk* shirts that clung here and hung loosely there and... yeah.

"Uh... Clark?"

"Lex, you once said something about never getting sick. Does that apply to, you know, your stamina?"

"My stamina? Clark, what are you --"

Clark got within sniffing distance.

"Oh. *Oh*."

Clark pounced, and, okay, Lex's father was right there, and that was kind of creepy, but he was mostly unconscious and Lex didn't seem to mind.

Lex was sucking on his neck and clawing at his chest and humping and oh *yeah*.

Clark shoved Lionel under the pool table.

If all else failed, he could always run to Metropolis.

* the whores hustle and the hustlers whore *

Chloe didn't do this often.

It was... well, it was really fucking shady, and sick, and dangerous, and a lot of other icky things.

But it was also... really fucking hot.

Rolling down the streets, the kind of neighborhoods her Dad always tried to keep her away from when she was growing up, when she was Daddy's girl and everything was possible.

The kind of neighborhoods where *stories* happened, and that was the excuse.

Well, that was the excuse when she started out. The Planet had her officially covering gardening shows and society marriages and other useless crap, but she'd never been passive. She knew the only way to move up the ranks and get herself a byline would be to go out and *find* the news.

And so she'd driven through the bad neighborhoods, and sat in the dives and got hit on by skanky guys from a fucking rainbow coalition of races and creeds. And she still did, and sometimes she actually *got* good stories.

But that wasn't why she was out tonight.

Sure, if a good story came along she'd hold onto it with both hands, but... but. She was driving slow. She wasn't looking for anything but what she wanted.

And they knew her here. The ones that read had liked her story about the way the cops took advantage. *Her* story, even though it wasn't her name where it counted. They smiled at her and walked right up to her car and waved and pointed and make her feel even warmer than she already was.

Made her feel -- a little -- guilty.

Some of them didn't know what she was really here for. The ones that did know...

Chloe wanted to be the kind of journalist who didn't do stuff like this, wanted to be the kind of woman where it didn't matter that she was good, that she never really hurt them... wanted to be the kind of *person* who could never make distinctions like that.

But mostly, she wanted... that.

Her.

Obviously a new girl. High heels, short skirt, cheap little baby t. Dark, shiny hair hiding her face the way only the really old ones or the really inexperienced ones did. Holding herself like she was cold, despite the heat.

She pulled up to the curb. "Need a ride?"

The girl jerked like Chloe'd goosed her, and looked up. Wide eyes, strangely exotic features. She looked young, but then Chloe was only in her twenties. Who really knew? She walked over, tottering just a little on the heels.

It was something between endearing and infuriating. "Get in," she said, and the girl just looked at her for long moments, searching her face for God only knew what. Chloe popped the lock and pushed the passenger door open, forcing the girl to totter back a few steps.

She wondered if she'd have to give the speech, but the girl just slid right in and closed the door.

Fastened her seatbelt and folded her hands in her lap.

Chloe pulled back into traffic. "How much?"

"I. Um. I haven't --"

"Just tell me what your regular rates are."

"F-fifty. For. For oral. One hundred for all the way. Three hundred for the whole night."

Chloe nodded and kept driving. She could feel the girl looking at her. Knew her eyes would be big and dark and bottomless if she looked over. She reached over and grabbed the girl's small breast, not really surprised to feel a bra under the t-shirt. Gratified at the small gasp. "That'll be fine."

"I... are you... what do you want?"

Chloe rubbed until she could feel the girl's nipple get hard and then squeezed. "I haven't decided yet," she lied.

She kept her hand right where it was while she drove.

The All Nighter was just another skanky cheap motel, but it was a little out of the way so it stayed reasonably clean. Not too many raids.

She could hear the girl swallow when she paid for the whole night, and Chloe smirked to herself. There was a ghost of feeling in her right hand that held the shape and warmth of the girl's breast. She walked to their room quickly, enjoying the uneven click-clack-click of the girl stumbling along behind her. Enjoying it more than she wanted to think about.

Chloe tugged the girl into the room and stood her in front of the bed. "Stay there," she said, and tossed herself onto the bed. Rubbed herself through her work slacks and watched the girl try to look everywhere but at her.

"What... um. What should I do?"

"What's your name?"

"La -- Lydia."

"Uh, huh. Strip, Lydia." Do it slow, she didn't say, and regretted it a little, because the girl took her clothes off like she was in a locker room.

But then... she didn't. Standing there in her heels and her bra and staring down at herself. Blushing. God, that was... it was wrong and it was dirty, the way it made Chloe feel. But this was one of *those* nights, and dammit, she was allowed.

"Leave the shoes on."

'Lydia' blushed even harder, the stain going right down to the edges of her bra. Nodded and peeled out of her bra. Shimmied out of her panties. Made an abortive move toward the bed.

"That's right, come on. Crawl up here."

"Be... beside you?"

"On top of me. Straddle my thighs."

She nodded jerkily and crawled onto the bed. Eased herself over Chloe. Chloe spread her legs wider so the girl would have to do the same, and she nearly fell over. Caught herself on the cheap headboard.

"Mm. Stay like that."

Chloe watched gooseflesh trail up the girl's body as she touched her and felt her pussy seize up. Fuck, she was wet, and she'd probably have to toss her own underwear after this. Whatever, she had a job.

She cupped the girl's breasts, just testing their weight for a few moments. The softness of the skin. Then she played with her nipples, watching the girl's face. It didn't take long for them to get hard, and she wanted to see them, but...

Mmm.

The girl had her eyes squeezed shut and was biting her lip. Blushing harder by the second, and she was maybe even going to *cry*.

Chloe never thought she'd ever see anything like it in Metropolis, but who knew? Maybe the girl was in from farm country or something. Maybe it was her first time.

She twisted both nipples at once and the girl made a sound like a wounded crow.

"Hurts?"

"I... a little..."

Chloe did it again.

"*Please*..."

She still hadn't opened her eyes. "Please what?"

"Please don't do that so... so hard."

Chloe felt her pussy clench and bit back a groan. Soothed the girl's nipples with her thumbs and wondered what they'd feel like in her mouth. What they'd taste like. "Want me to touch you someplace else, Lydia?"

"I... y-yes..."

Chloe shoved two fingers into her mouth, licked them just enough to get them wet, and stroked her way into the girl's pussy. Her little clit was easy to find, easier when she started rubbing, and the girl made encouraging sounds. Tiny sounds, almost *hurtful* sounds, shaking her head until her hair was moving like curtains in the wind. And yeah, that was something to see, but Chloe wasn't here to get *her* off.

Up and into the girl's cunt and *fuck* she was tight.

She made an even better sound at the first stroke, and shifted her legs for a better position. Chloe fucked her fast and hard, watching her breasts bounce. Watching her face.

"Open your eyes."

She didn't do it right away and Chloe used her free hand to slap the girl's ass.

"I said, open your eyes."

The girl did it, a flash of anger and fear covered quickly and badly in a show of obedience.

"Good girl. Keep them open."

Chloe didn't slow down, just kept pushing up and in, shifting her fingers to find the spots that made the girl wince, made her gasp and bite her lip. Pretty girl. *So* pretty, and Chloe wanted to know what the hell she was doing in this life, but most of all she just wanted to keep doing this.

She used her free hand on the girl's clit, and that was even better. She clenched around Chloe's finger and mewled like a cat, moving her hips into it. Her eyes glazed over while Chloe watched, and she knew the girl was close. Hell, *she* was close.

She smiled up at her and stopped. Slid her hands out of the girl's pussy. Gave it a goodbye rub and brought her slick fingers up to the girl's mouth, open in a cute little 'o' of surprise. "Suck them."

The girl did, brow furrowing at the taste. Chloe fucked her mouth for a little while. Normally, she'd get the girl to fuck her, or eat her out, but this one didn't look good for much of anything but being used.

She took her fingers away. "Roll over. Get on your back."

"I... okay..."

Chloe crawled on top of her and straddled her knee. "Bend it a little -- yeah, like that."

And Chloe rocked herself off, playing with the girl's tits. Thought about offering her extra for the chance to spank them, thought about the look on the girl's face. Thought about the Lane woman at the Planet with her manicured nails and manicured smile and long, long legs leading up to nowhere Chloe would ever get and pinched the girl's nipples until she jerked and mewled again and came in her pants.

Closed her eyes and breathed through the small, unsatisfying aftershocks.

"Are you... do you want --"

"Shut up."

Chloe crawled off the girl and dug in her purse for her cigarettes. Lit one and watched the smoke curl up to the stained ceiling. Watched the girl shift beside her, all soft golden skin and discomfort.

She had her for the night.

She would make it count.

End.


End file.
